


Where You Lead, I Will Follow

by Kacka



Series: Oy With the Poodles Already [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:50:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy sometimes hates his town's quirks, but he always loves the life it allowed him and his sister to have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where You Lead, I Will Follow

Bellamy represses a snort when he finds Octavia spread like a starfish across her mattress. There’s barely room for her on the narrow twin dimensions anymore, particularly when she sleeps like she does everything else-- larger than life-- but he nudges her to the side and climbs up next to her anyway, chuckling when she groans.

He sits so he’s propped up against her headboard, combing his fingers through her hair as she nuzzles into her pillow.

“Happy birthday, O.”

“Do we have to do this every year?”

Bellamy hits a button on her phone just in time to see the clock change from 4:12 to 4:13 in the morning.

“We definitely do. You know why?”

“I can hazard a guess.”

“It’s because at this exact moment, seventeen years ago, I was sitting just like this.”

“You were not.” The sleepiness is starting to fade from her voice, but not the annoyance.

“No, I was standing next to the bed, but I was holding Mom’s hair off her neck with one hand and holding her hand with the other.”

Octavia’s eyes stay closed, but she lifts her hand searchingly for his. His heart twinges as he catches it easily in his own.

He could never forget the day she was born. No matter how hard he tried. For one thing, it had been kind of a scarring experience for a fifteen-year-old boy to be in the room while his mother was pushing a human through parts he never wanted to think about in relation to her. For another, it had been really intensely emotional, especially when Octavia initially scored low on her Apgar. It had been terrifying for him to think this baby that he was already so attached to might not make it.

But she’d fought her way to a healthy score in no time, and had been fighting ever since.

“And when you came out, all slimy and disgusting--”

“Real nice, Bell.”

“--I wasn’t really sure you were worth all of Mom’s screaming--”

“ _ Real _ nice.”

“--but after they got your heart and lungs working better, and cleaned you off significantly, they handed you over and that was it.”

“I had you wrapped around my finger from day one.”

“Pretty much,” he sighs, squeezing her hand. “And when Mom was about to pass out from exhaustion, she handed you to me and told me I could start coming up with names.”

“And you just had Octavia on the tip of your tongue like the giant nerd you are.”

“It was almost immediate,” he admits. “But first one of the nurses had to show me how to hold you.”

“It’s a miracle I survived this long.”

“Just like palming a basketball, he said. Except your head was much smaller.”

“Good. I would never want to push a basketball out of my lady parts.” She pauses, rolling over and squinting up at him. “Are we done now? Can I go back to sleep? Because I have a Latin test in the morning and I need to bring my A game.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I just wanted to tell you the story. And also, that I think you’re a cool kid who is growing up to be awesome despite my best efforts,” Bellamy says, kissing her forehead before sliding off the bed. She expands into the empty space like she’s partially a liquid.

“Please,” she mumbles, already drifting off again. “However I’m turning out, it’s totally and completely your fault.”

His heart twinges again.

“Well, you aren’t making meth or running a crime syndicate or dating a fifty-year-old biker named Gus, so I must be doing something right,” he says lightly.

Octavia huffs, exasperated that he’s still in her room and making noise.

“There’s still time,” she tells him as he eases the door closed behind him.

But he goes to bed with a smile on his face.

_ Latin test _ , he thinks.  _ Maybe I am doing something right. _

 

* * *

 

“You can’t sit there.”

Bellamy freezes, halfway onto his favorite stool, the one by the register where he can bug Clarke regardless of whether she’s behind the counter or in the kitchen.

“Why not?” He demands. She rolls her eyes and gives him a  _ don’t fight me on this _ look.

“Because you should sit by the window, at the table that has birthday streamers and a pancake with a whipped cream face on it.” She frowns, looking around. “Where is the birthday girl, anyway?”

“Some jerk woke her up at 4 a.m. to tell her the story of her birth.”

“Worst birthday present ever.”

“It’s not like she didn’t know it was coming. It’s tradition. If it’s gonna throw her off so much, she should go to bed half an hour earlier to offset it.”

Clarke shakes her head, but there’s a bemused smile playing at the corners of her mouth even as she disapprovingly pours Bellamy the largest coffee she can.

“Anyway,” he adds after taking a gulp (he’s not as young as Octavia is anymore; he doesn’t bounce back like he used to) “She and Harper will be along in a few minutes.”

“They’d better,” Clarke grouses. “I didn’t do all that work for nothing.”

“People would think you’re going soft on us,” Bellamy agrees with mock solemnity.

Only the tip of her backwards baseball cap is visible as she ducks behind the counter for something. When he asked her why she wears it, she just shrugged and told him it was better than a hairnet. He loves her hair, golden and wavy and perfectly princess-like, but the hat is every bit as much a part of her. Her own little rebellion against the sanitation department.

The constant flannels he can’t explain, except that they’re cozy and comfortable and somewhat-- when combined with the cap-- feel like a uniform.

She’d been his first friend in Ark Grove, the one who kept him in coffee and steered him to the inn that would both hire him and provide temporary accommodations for him and Octavia. As a recent college graduate who had a mountain of debt from student loans in addition to, suddenly, a second grader he had to take care of, he’d looked up the closest town to his university with the lowest cost of living and moved his life there. Stumbling into Clarke’s diner and unloading on her about his situation remains the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Well, second-best. After Octavia.

“You’re going to be late if you hang around until your sister gets here.”

“It’s her birthday. The inn can wait.”

“Don’t you have your historical tour, though?”

Bellamy groans. He’d forgotten about that. It’s a new program he’s offering on a trial basis, in keeping with the town’s whimsical colonial charm. He’s hoping it will be good for local businesses. It’s the first thing he’s really done on his own for the inn, the first thing that goes beyond the typical duties of the manager. If it’s a success, it’ll be like having validation that his dreams of opening his own place are on track.

“I can’t believe I scheduled that on O’s birthday.”

“It’ll still be her birthday this afternoon. And you already woke her up at 4 a.m., so it’s not like you haven’t seen her today.” Her amusement softens. “Seriously, go to work and stop feeling bad about it. I’ll make sure she has a great morning.”

“Promise?”

She hands him a to-go cup full of coffee, because she’s a saint.

“There are streamers, Bellamy. I’m all over this.”

“Yeah, but there could be balloons.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Alright, I’m going.” He stands from his stool and pauses, then leans across the counter to kiss Clarke on the cheek. She’s pink and flustered when he pulls back, which is kind of an Octavia’s-birthday present for him. “Thanks, Clarke.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get going already.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of his morning passes in a blur. The tour goes even better than he anticipated, with one of the guests trying to tip him egregiously at the end. He makes a mental note to provide feedback forms on the next one.

After that he waits for Monty and Miller to stop arguing over the quality of Monty’s produce (somehow  _ Monty _ ends up being the one adamant that they aren’t good enough for the inn and trying to refuse to sell them to Miller) so that they can go over the week’s menu.

And then it’s the little things: check-in and check-out, arguing with a supplier on the phone, talking through the details of a wedding scheduled for next month. By the time he gets to catch his breath, it’s well into the afternoon.

“Your sister is here, and she’s stealing our pens,” Lexa announces, appearing out of nowhere. Bellamy has been hiding in the kitchen and watching Miller literally put out fires as he keeps dragging his sleeve through the open flame, his face never shifting from an expression of disinterest. It’s fascinating to watch.

“Stealing or using?” Miller asks, and Lexa glares at him. Of course, that’s Lexa’s default expression, and they’re both pretty desensitized to it by this point. It’s how she expresses affection, he’s sixty percent sure.

“She’s taking them out of their assigned places and when she puts them back, they are no longer in their assigned places. I cannot therefore be certain she is not exchanging them for lesser pens.”

“She’s not stealing your pens, Lexa.”

“They are the inn’s pens, Bellamy, and didn’t you say you would talk to her about it?”

“Yeah, we definitely talked about how anal you are.” He stands and stretches. “I’m going to the front desk. You coming with me?”

“I suppose. If you won’t supervise her, I’ll have to.”

“Good luck with that,” Miller laughs.

“It’s not like you need to be at the front desk to do your job, or anything,” Bellamy says, following her through the dining room.

“You told me to come get you when she arrived, and I did. Regrettably, following your direct orders is part of my job description.”

Bellamy tries not to smile and fails.

As much as Lexa gets on his last nerve, sniping with her is one of his favorite parts of his job. She’s prickly with people, but she’s good with details and her French accent (which Bellamy has never been able to discern as real or fake) somehow goes with the inn’s vibe. The guests eat it up, the work gets done efficiently, and Bellamy kind of likes surrounding himself with assholes. He can trust people who are blatantly assholeish because he can trust that they’re being straight with him. It’s part of why he and Clarke get along so well.

When they get to the desk, Octavia is perched on the stool Lexa is more proprietary about than a queen, her throne. She has four different pens in front of her, one keeping her place in an open textbook, one behind her ear, one in her mouth-- Lexa won’t be happy about that-- and one furiously scribbling notes.

“And you call me a giant nerd,” he teases, looking over her shoulder at the declensions she’s working on. “That’s not right.”

“Is too,” Octavia fires back.

“Which one of us graduated college with a Classics degree?”

“Which one of us is in the class right now?”

“Touche,” he grins, taking the pen from behind her ear and setting it back in its place. Lexa tuts and reaches out to adjust it.

“You can both be nerds,” she sniffs. “There is no need for this petty competition.”

“Petty competition is Bell’s middle name,” Octavia says, scowling at Lexa. She has a harder time letting Lexa’s insults go, and when the two butt heads it usually results in both of them getting irritated.

“Then you should be grateful Mom let me pick yours,” Bellamy retorts. “So I was thinking: since your party isn’t until Friday, I can get Miller to make your favorite chicken pot pie and we can binge The Great British Bake Off and work on our accents. Also cooking skills.”

“Cooking and baking are two different things,” Octavia points out.

“Yeah, and we can’t do either.”

“True. Well, it sounds perfect to me. I don’t have any tests tomorrow so I can totally slack off tonight.”

“Bellamy, I have said it before and I will say it again: you are a terrible influence,” Lexa says haughtily. Bellamy grins brightly at her, knowing after years of working together exactly how to get under her skin.

“I try.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Octavia and Harper get home, Bellamy has the movie cued up and he and Clarke have laid out a veritable feast on the coffee table. Clarke griped the whole time about how unhealthily Bellamy eats, and how does he possibly not weigh three hundred pounds, but she baked a whole pie special for Octavia’s birthday without Bellamy asking, so he takes it with good grace.

“We’re home,” Octavia calls, heading straight for the food. Harper has her nose practically glued to her phone, so intently doing whatever she’s doing that she doesn’t even say hello as she takes a seat beside Clarke on the couch. She’s wearing an AC/DC t-shirt Bellamy vaguely recognizes having folded when he was doing laundry earlier that week, but she usually keeps a few of her spares in O’s room, so he’s not all that surprised.

“What are you doing?” He asks, when Harper still hasn’t acknowledged his presence.

“I created a fake Facebook account that looks like a generic middle-aged user and then friended all my conservative relatives so I can argue with them,” Harper explains, chipper.

“Why can’t you just argue on your own Facebook account?” Clarke asks. “That’s what I do.”

“Have you  _ met _ my mother?”

“Good point.”

“Speaking of your mother,” Bellamy cuts in, “Where does she think you are right now?”

“She knows I’m here. She thinks we’re studying.”

“How mad would she be if she found out Bellamy was letting you watch reality TV?” Clarke asks, a shit-eating grin on her face. “Just curious. Definitely not planning to blackmail Bellamy with this information.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Harper says, looking up from her phone for the first time. “She has ears everywhere. If you speak of keeping a secret from her, I'm half convinced she’ll just appear.”

Clarke mimes locking her lips as Octavia squeezes herself into the tiny space at the edge of the couch.

“It’s cool if Harper crashes our tea and crumpets party, right?”

“Damn,” Clarke snaps her fingers. “I knew I forgot something when I was prepping all this food for you guys.”

“I guess,” Bellamy sighs, melodramatic. “I mean, I thought this was going to be a special sibling bonding moment, but if I’m not enough for you anymore–”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it.” Octavia rolls her eyes and Bellamy can’t keep a straight face. “You don’t have to get all dramatic about it. You brought a friend, too.”

“I didn’t bring a friend. Clarke brought herself.”

“And I brought food too,” Clarke adds, leaning into Bellamy’s shoulder. He gets the urge to put his arm around her, thinks about how easy it would be to stretch until it’s resting along the back of the couch, thinks about how perfectly she’d fit into his side. He resists the urge to find out.

“I can’t stay anyways,” she continues. “Jasper is due to burn the diner to the ground at any second, so I should probably be getting back.”

She stands and reaches for the mountain of food, handing Octavia a carrot.

“Here. Eat this. It’s a vegetable, and it’s good for you, and it will keep you from getting scurvy.”

Octavia takes it and inspects it carefully.

“Vegetables, you say? I thought they were a myth.”

Clarke ruffles her hair, and then Bellamy’s.

“Go ahead, clog your arteries. See if I care.”

Octavia rolls her eyes again, but places the carrot gently atop her mountain of fries.

“Thanks, Clarke.”

“Uh-huh. Happy Birthday.”

Bellamy stands to walk Clarke out, ignoring the whispers and giggles of the teenagers on his couch as he does so.

“You’re coming Friday, right?” He’s not sure why he’s nervous. It’s not like this is a date. It’s O’s birthday party. The whole town is invited. It would be weirder if he  _ didn’t _ mention it to Clarke.

Still, it’s a relief when she says, “I’m planning to.”

She pushes her rolled sleeves further up her forearms. She’s always doing that and it hasn’t stopped being cute yet.

“I’ll probably be late, but I’ll be there. Anything I can bring?”

“Miller is catering, so you’re off the hook,” Bellamy says, leaning against the door frame. The porch light makes her hair-- what’s visible of it, under the cap-- glow, almost ethereally. He realizes he’s paused for too long and clears his throat, adding, “All you have to do is show up.”

She smiles and leans up to kiss him on the cheek, much like he’d done that morning at the diner. He feels as off-kilter as Clarke had looked.

“I think I can manage that. Goodnight, Bellamy.”

Before she makes it all the way off his porch, he manages to stammer, “Night, Clarke.”

 

* * *

 

“What’d we miss?” Bellamy hisses to Miller as he and Octavia sneak into the back row. The town meeting starts promptly at seven, but Bellamy likes to piss Jaha off by coming in a few minutes late. Plus it gives them extra time to bring snacks.

“So far, just arguing over who gets to be the Scarecrow at the Autumn Festival,” Monty whispers from Miller’s other side, holding his hand out for the popcorn in Octavia’s hands.

“Also, Jasper is offering to walk people’s cats for five dollars an hour,” Miller adds.

“Jasper starts a new business,” Bellamy muses, looking to Octavia. “Didn’t we have that on the town meeting bingo card?”

“Let me check,” she whispers back, digging around in her backpack.

“If we’re  _ not bothering anybody, _ I’d like to move on to the next matter at hand. Bellamy?” Jaha says, overly loud and drawing both sets of Blake eyes. Bellamy leans back in his seat and crosses his arms.

“You’re not bothering me,” he assures Jaha, who frowns. “Please, continue.”

“Good, because the next item concerns you.”

“Uh-oh,” Miller says under his breath.

“This can’t be good,” Octavia agrees.

“I’d like to remind everyone that unlicensed tours are strictly prohibited in Ark Grove,” Jaha says, looking around at the room as if it concerns everyone, and not just Bellamy.

“Are you saying I can’t offer my historical tour to  _ my _ guests?” Bellamy asks, incredulous.

“I’m saying, you can attend the tour guide crash course on Saturday from eight to four, and then you can take the test--”

“This is ridiculous,” Raven interrupts from the front row. “Bellamy has lived here for ten years and he’s the biggest history nerd in town. There isn’t anyone more qualified--”

“Anyone who has taken the licensing test is more qualified,” Jaha argues.

“So… Jasper,” Miller says, flat.

“If the shoe fits--”

“You’re saying I have to let Jasper give my tour, or... what?”

“You’ll be fined.”

“ _ Fined? _ ” Octavia yelps, and Bellamy elbows her in the side. She ignores him. “Are you actively trying to make our lives harder?”

“It is my job as Town Selectman to enforce our rules and regulations, young lady. If you have a problem with that, you may wait until you’re of voting age, and then you may give your input through the proper channels. Now. On to the next item…”

“He’s mad with power,” Bellamy mutters, uncaring of whether he disturbs the proceedings. The town meetings are usually good entertainment, but every now and then he remembers how much he wants to egg Jaha’s car.

“You picked this wacky town,” Octavia reminds him, passing him the Red Vines. “But if it helps, we can toilet paper his lawn later.”

“I’m in,” Miller says immediately. “Any prank on Jaha is worth the potential blowback in my books. You name it.”

“Thanks guys,” Bellamy grunts, still petulant but slightly mollified. “I’ll let you know.”

 

* * *

 

The party is in full swing by the time Clarke staggers in, a big bag of ice in each hand.

“What are the odds,” he teases, rushing to take one of the bags from her. “We both got O the same thing.”

“How embarrassing," she laughs. "Hey, I heard what happened at the town meeting. Will you jump through Jaha's hoop of the week, or are you going to fight the system?"

"I'm going to the stupid class," he sighs, adjusting the bags so they both fit in the freezer. "Until then, I'm getting Jasper-–

He turns as he's speaking, but his words die on his tongue when he sees her. Instead of her normal uniform, she’s wearing heels and a dress that shows off her shape, her normally covered hair flowing free. She’s gorgeous, and Bellamy is tongue-tied.

“What?” She frowns down at her outfit. “I’m overdressed, right? You know I have Friday night dinners with my mom. I didn’t bring a change of clothes but I wanted to come straight here--”

Bellamy clears his throat.

“You look great,” he tells her, his voice a little too gruff. She smiles, uncertain, then smiles wider.

“So do you.” She reaches out to straighten the feather boa Raven draped across his shoulders about an hour ago. “Very stylish.”

“You should have seen me an hour ago. Octavia had me wearing the birthday princess crown for a while.”

“I bet somebody got pictures.”

“Safe bet.”

They stand there for another beat, the sounds of laughter and good-natured ribbing and Harper’s music floating in from the living room. With all their friends, almost the whole town, packed into his living room, the kitchen shouldn’t feel as private as it does, but he would be convinced in this moment that they’re the only people in the world.

Clarke takes a step closer, her heels putting her even with Bellamy’s height. The barest amount of space remains between them. Bellamy’s skin buzzes everywhere they almost touch, his senses full of Clarke, his mind completely blank. Everything else has faded away, except the scent of her perfume and the blue of her eyes and her body heat he swears he can feel even at this distance.

He leans forward, almost imperceptibly, and she tilts her head. His fingers brush against her waist. Her eyelids flutter shut.

And then--

“Bell, get out here! Miller won’t let us cut the cake without you.”

The moment shatters, space swelling between them as Clarke steps back. Bellamy’s chin drops to his chest, and then he offers her a rueful smile.

“Want some cake?”

“Sure.” She gives him a weak smile. “We shouldn’t keep the birthday girl waiting.”

He reaches out to squeeze her hand and she squeezes back, but his hand feels emptier than before when she lets go.

When they get back in the living room, Octavia beams at him, patting the spot next to her.

He slots in next to his sister as the lights dim and everyone starts to sing.

He thinks he’s given Octavia a pretty good life so far. She’s a lot healthier than when their mother was alive, and a lot happier, too. His eyes pass over his friends, his neighbors, the town that loves O and cares about her, until his gaze catches on Clarke in the crowd. He’s not sure what just happened with her, but he doesn’t feel as wistful as he thought he would. Instead, he feels… hopeful.

Octavia makes a wish before she blows out the candles. Bellamy realizes that even if there are one or two things he could still wish for, his sister is taken care of, and that’s the big thing. Everything else is gravy.

“Happy birthday,” he says, slinging an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her temple. Instead of pulling away like she normally does, she wraps her arm around his back and leans into the hug.

“Love you, Bell,” she says, barely loud enough for him to hear.

He smiles and tightens his hold.

“Kid, you have no idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> I already have two more installments in this series planned, because I'm having a lot of Blake Siblings feelings rn and because I want to. Their dynamic in this one is, to me, more pre-Skybox and the future ones will parallel canon more. I hope. I guess we'll see!


End file.
